Heartbreak, and What Comes After
by The Red Celt
Summary: He's lost his other half and, now that the Reapers have landed, has never felt more alone. On-board the Normandy, he develops a bond with the Commander-she's smart, capable, a force of nature. He's drawn to her, but is it enough to turn a friendship into something more? FemShep/Cortez pairing, rated M for later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note: I wanted to take on the challenge of writing this story because I thought it would be interesting to explore this aspect of human sexuality. There are lots of people out there who consider themselves predominately straight or gay, but there are a few people they'd make an exception for. I have several, myself. :) Anyway, I just want the readers out there to understand that sexual boundaries are a lot more elastic, and sometimes we don't all fit into the LGBTQ categories as neatly as some would have you believe. Keep in mind: I'm not saying that all it'd take is the right woman to turn a gay man straight. That's not at all what I'm getting at here. I'm saying that sometimes, the heart wants what the heart wants. Anyway, enough with the disclaimers. On with the story!_

* * *

Of course he's heard of the Reapers. Everyone has, after the fight against Sovereign at the Citadel and the fifth fleet's sacrifice. There are the other rumors, too, spread by those who have opted not to listen to the Council's whitewash attempt and instead side with Commander Jane Shepard—that the Reapers are coming in force to invade not just one planet, but the entire galaxy.

Although the rumors are out there, the first Steve hears of the impending invasion is a Reaper scream that cuts through the air like a particle blade and startles him out of his concentration. He's working on polishing up an engine in the barracks not far from the Normandy when the invasion begins, and James runs into the room, strapping into his armor in record time.

"What's happening out there?" Steve asks, as if he doesn't know. In panic situations, rhetorical questions are the only ones to ask.

"Shepard was right. She was right all along." James tosses an empty duffel to him and he starts shoving supplies into the bag with numb fingers. At the bottom of his footlocker is a holodisk holding a recording he wants more than anything right now, and for a moment he can't breathe when he can't feel it there. But it's moved beneath a pile of shirts, and Steve fishes it out with a shaky sigh. It goes into the bag along with his toolkit, clothes, and toiletry kit. A necessity, like the rest of it.

They sprint for the Normandy, and James hands him a rifle while he hurriedly explains the situation. The shit has officially hit the fan, and they're supposed to rendezvous with Major Alenko, Admiral Anderson, and the Commander at the ship as soon as possible. The enemy is everywhere, dropping out of the sky with comet trails of fire streaming out behind them as they thunder to the ground. They are horrible, unnatural, worse than alien—they are walking abortions that should not exist. The fight for Earth has begun.

They make it onto the ship just before Shepard and Anderson appear, sprinting out of the line of fire. Her legs are pumping hard as she jumps up onto the cargo ramp and the Major hauls her inside. She turns back around to say something to Anderson, but Steve can't hear it—he's running take-off checks for a status report.

Suddenly, Joker is on the comm, yelling about huge cuttlefish falling out of the sky and not making a whole lot of sense in his anxiety. The message he's trying to convey is clear-_ Everyone strap yourselves in, it's gonna get bumpy._ Shepard is onboard, the ramp closes behind her, an unreadable expression on her face. Anderson isn't there. It's the first loss, and already the Commander's mouth is set in a grim line that will become characteristic of her in the weeks to come.

The engines fire up, Steve gives the green light to Joker, and then Major Alenko is at his shoulder asking about the status of the Kodiak. It's running fine, only needs a minor tune-up, but there's no time for any of that because they're bugging out. Getting out of Dodge. Fucking off in a big way. James doesn't take the news well. Steve doesn't care where they go, as long as he's making a difference. Besides, he lost his home a long time ago.

They're off to Mars first, and James flies the shuttle out. While he doesn't want to leave the piloting to someone less talented, Steve isn't prepared for the wave of emotion that hits him when they break atmo. Fear, sorrow, anger, longing, fierce determination, panic—they all coalesce into something that sits in the pit of his stomach and won't budge. He hasn't felt this alone in months. He wishes more than anything that Robert were here.

While she's gearing up, Shepard sees the lost look on his face and tells him to go check in with Joker and go over the flight plan. It's a little nothing assignment that can wait, but he's grateful for it and knows what she's doing—giving him a moment to collect himself.

When he sees the state of the shuttle when they return, he regrets leaving the job to Vega; the guy's a great soldier on the ground, but behind the wheel he's still just a grunt. All that fades to the background when they pull the Major out, bruised and broken, and haul him up to the medbay. The look on Shepard's face, that grim resolve, never wavers. It's a mask she wears, another kind of armor.

He's heard the stories about her, everyone has. Born on Earth, raised by a gang, Shepard was steel forged in white-hot fire even before she joined the Alliance. She rose in the ranks quickly, earning loyalty and commanding respect wherever she went, even among her superiors. She was a powerhouse on the battlefield, a hurricane that destroyed everything in her path. Fiercely loyal to her friends, merciless with those who opposed her, she was the natural choice for the human Spectre candidate. Then, she was instrumental in defeating Saren and his Reaper flagship. The tales got taller and taller as her victories mounted up, but it wasn't until she died and was resurrected that she started to become a legend.

And now he's serving under her, directly responsible for her well-being in the most important war anyone had seen in 50,000 years. It's daunting, to say the least.

Over the next few days, once they start to build up their team and rack up wins wherever they go, Steve gets to see more and more of the woman behind the legend. When she comes down to introduce herself, insisting he call her "Shepard" rather than "Commander", she is easy to talk to, companionable and warm. She's short, maybe 5'6", even though when she's in armor she seems ten feet tall. She is unassuming. Normal. Human.

As he lays out the procedures for procuring supplies and tells her about his career and experience flying fighter jets, she doesn't give much away but the small smile that plays at the edges of her mouth encourages him. When she shakes his hand, it's with a nod of acknowledgement, equal to equal. He's impressed her, and that means a lot.

Her friends are almost as accomplished as she is. A quarian admiral, a turian Reaper advisor, the Shadow Broker, the Major, a krogan battlemaster. That last one takes him by surprise. They're on Sur'Kesh to retrieve the female krogan that someone inside the salarian laboratories has tipped Wrex off about, and the whole thing starts to go to hell when Cerberus shows up. Steve is just getting ready to take off and provide air support when Wrex asks him politely, at gunpoint, to kindly move the hell out of the way. He does, warily eyeing the eight hundred pound krogan as he takes the controls.

Steve has to give it to him, the guy knows his way around a shuttle. He's dodging incoming fire and leading Cerberus on a merry chase while Shepard and her team bring the pain down below. With someone else piloting, he has the opportunity to watch her fight, and it's an amazing thing. She plows through the indoctrinated soldiers, mows them down like grass, in a deadly dance of biotics and pure brute force. Kids use the word "awesome" to refer to just about anything, but Shepard and her team are the living definition of the word.

When he tells her about Wrex commandeering the shuttle, she laughs and shrugs it off. "Yeah, he kinda does that. You get used to it." Like being on friendly terms with a krogan is the most normal thing ever. Compared to the other things she's seen and done over the years, he supposes it is.

"Anyway, it's good to have you back safe, ma'am."

"The mark of a good mission, if you ask me." There's a glint in her eye that gives a hint at the humor beneath her words.

"Indeed. Is there anything I can do for you, Shepard?"

"Not right now, Cortez." She hesitates for a moment before leaving, giving him a queer look. It isn't until later that he wonders if it was because he'd offered his help, and when the last time she'd had such an offer was.

A little over two weeks in, and they finally have a little breathing room. Rather than run from one mission into another without time to clean the grit from one planet out of their armor before heading to the next, they can actually take some time to plan. The team is growing stronger, their focus a laser sight aimed at the Reapers, and Cerberus. Between assignments, Shepard makes frequent trips down to the shuttle bay to work on new weapon mods, secure supplies, or just shoot the shit with him and Vega. The three of them share an easy camaraderie, and for the minutes she spends down here she can loosen up little.

At first, it starts at the edges, insidious in its sneakiness: the depression that had enveloped him after Robert's death on Ferris Fields only a year ago. He'd thought he was finally getting better, but here it is again, encircling his heart in a vice-grip. When he's busy, it's not so bad; the Normandy is a warship now, and there's almost always something to do. At night, though, the cold space beside him is oh, so obvious. Here, at the end of all things, he longs for his husband's strong arms to hold him and tell him it'll be okay. Sometimes, in his dreams, he still does.

He keeps his wedding band in his front pocket, a warm and insistent presence that offers comfort, and reminds him of what he's lost. He needs that pain, though. To do any less than mourn Robert feels like the worst kind of betrayal. It feels like forgetting him, and that he can't bring himself to do. He has to carry on, for the both of them. Sometimes, it's more than he can bear.

Shepard seems to know that something's off about him. She makes a point of engaging him in conversation, arguing about the merits of the Mako (which she and Vega both wax sentimental over) versus the Hammerhead, discussing gun mods, rehashing old war stories. One evening, they're talking about their families back home and Shepard, predictably, doesn't have much to add on the subject. James heads to the mess hall with the promise to bring back some food for everyone, and Shepard asks Steve about his family. He's been dreading this topic for weeks, but she's looking at him expectantly and he can't help but tell her.

"I'm an only child. Lost my parents years ago." He takes a deep breath, then says, "I had a husband back when I was stationed on Ferris Fields. I'd rather not talk about it."

She looks up at him over the assault rifle in her hands, and the look she gives him isn't one he's seen lately. It's not pity, not exactly. Steve thinks it's empathy—the look of a person who knows what it is to lose someone.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Steve. If you ever want to talk about it, let me know, okay?" She smiles at him reassuringly, and he sighs in relief.

"I'll keep that in mind. Thanks."

"Anytime." He appreciates the fact that she's not at all awkward more than he can say out loud. Usually, people feel the need to excuse themselves because they can't think of anything to fill the silence after he tells them about Robert's death. Shepard stays, though, and before long James reappears with three plates of unrecognizable starch and the moment's passed, for now.

* * *

The salarian, Mordin, is still working diligently on the cure for the genophage, but there's still a long way to go. Initial estimates sit at somewhere near a week, maybe ten days, and in the meantime Shepard decides to make a stop at the Citadel to make contacts and stock up on some much-needed supplies. Wrex has been plowing through the levo food stores, despite his complaining that there's a distinct lack of thresher steaks on the ship, and they're running low on dextro rations now that both Victus and Garrus have taken up their postings. There's been some talk about the possibility of a quarian joining them soon if they can get hold of her, and it's clear the quarian is a friend from a long way back. Shepard is attached to her inbox and personal comm link as she waits for word.

The ship empties out, but Steve can't bring himself to leave. All that space, free to do whatever he wants, will lead to too much time for his brain to supply him with memories and half-formed accusations aimed at himself. He sets up camp at his station and starts work on completing the repairs to the shuttle, breaking apart and cleaning each firearm that was used during the last mission to rescue the Primarch's son. That one didn't go so well. Steve wonders if there was something he could have done from the air—maybe gotten into position under the kid to catch him as he fell, or maybe airlifted him out of there before it got so bad. It's a track he's been over before, a well-worn path in his head that starts to intersect with other, older memories.

_Was there something I could have done differently? If I didn't listen to him and just jumped into one of the light transports, could I have saved him? Did it hurt when he died? Was it my fault?_

Soon he's just leaning on the console, trying to breathe past the heavy lump in his chest where his heart used to be. No one should ever have to lose a child, or a spouse, or a parent, or sibling, or friend. The pain is too much. He thinks that if there really is a god out there, like some people say, then He is an unapologetic asshole.

He lays down on his cot, touches the empty space next to him, and falls asleep, both fearing and hoping for dreams.

The crew begins to trickle back in after their 24 hours are up. Traynor and Joker are the first ones back, and as the pilot makes his unsteady way up to the cockpit, Traynor comes over to talk. She takes one look at him and says, "Are you feeling all right, Steve?"

"Well enough, I suppose." Every time these variations of _I'm fine_ come out of his mouth, he hates them a little more.

She puts a hand on his arm. "This war is hard on everyone. We all understand, and if you ever need to talk to someone—"

"Thank you, Sam. I'll do that." He knows that there are others out there mourning their own loved ones—hell, almost everyone he's ever known was on Earth, and most of them are probably dead now—but he still feels alone. Just then he's gripped by a need to hear Robert's voice, and he goes down to the shuttle bay to get the recording. His heart is in his throat the whole time; he's certain that something has happened to it, it'd be just his luck that his pack grew a hole all of a sudden and it's nothing more than a smoking crater back in Vancouver. His pulse doesn't slow until he puts his hands on it, and it's with shaking hands that he pushes it into his console.

"I love you, but I know you. Don't make me an anchor, promise me, Steve."

_I love you._

_I love you._

_I love you_.

His own voice saying, "No, don't" still haunts him. He's been saying it for months now: _Don't, Robert. Please don't be dead. You don't know what it's like now, living without you._

The twelfth time it plays through, a shadow falls over his forearm and he can see Shepard's trademark red hair in his peripheral vision. He knows there are tears streaming down his face and that it's probably not a good idea to let his superior officer who trusts him with her life to see him coming apart like this. He knows this, but he can't bring himself to act like he's fine anymore.

"Commander," he says, and the deadness in his voice scares him a little. "Sorry. Didn't see you there. This is a recording from Ferris Fields, months ago. I lost a lot of friends that day." He turns around and sees her there, and he has to avert his eyes from the naked sadness on her face. "I . . . lost my husband. I grieved, said goodbye, made my peace . . ." Except that's not exactly true. This isn't peace, not at all.

He's surprised by the feel of a pair of arms encircling him and opens his eyes to see the top of her head, pressed against his chest. The tears he's trying to keep at bay spill over again and he hugs her back, resting his cheek on her head. He's getting her all wet, she must feel it, but she doesn't move. His breath hitches and her arms tighten around him, rubbing his back in soothing circles.

"I just . . . I miss him so much, Shepard," he says, and the words crack and shatter. She nods wordlessly, her hair rubbing against his chin. He's forgotten the comfort of being in someone's arms, and the sadistic part of him rebels against it for an instant before he lets out a shaky breath and gives in to it. She shifts her weight from foot to foot and he moves with her; the rocking motion, her warmth, and (perhaps this most of all) her silent understanding make the tears less bitter, hurt a little less. By the time they've tapered off entirely he feels a little lighter, hollowed out. The depression is waiting in the wings, but somehow it seems more manageable as long as her arms stay around him.

He pulls back a little, and she lets him go with one last squeeze. He wipes at his face and she touches the damp spot on her hair, and they both laugh a little at the inherent absurdity. It feels good to laugh; it's been entirely too long. "Thanks, Shepard."

"I said anytime, and I meant it." She boosts herself up on the counter and he leans beside her with a sigh. "He must have cared a lot about you."

"He really did. And the feeling was definitely mutual."

"Tell me about him," she says, and for a moment Steve has no idea where to begin. Robert takes up so much of his head space these days, but he doesn't know how to describe him.

"He was a little taller than me with these deep brown eyes that just sucked you in, you know? Soulful eyes." It's like these words open up the floodgates and soon he's telling her all about the time they both got really drunk in Germany and wound up spending the entire night with a pair of hardcore techno ravers who wanted nothing more in the world than to open the two of them up to the wonderful world of slam dancing, and Shepard's laughing along with him. He's so wrapped up in the telling of the story and reliving good times that for a few minutes he's forgotten the pain that's been riding him all this time. He goes quiet and realizes he's smiling, and it doesn't feel forced or mask-like. She gives him a friendly nudge and gets him chuckling again.

"I appreciate your coming down, Shepard."

"No problem. I happen to enjoy your company, so I'd've been down here eventually anyway." Her eyes go more serious and she says, "Are you okay?"

"Don't worry. When I'm in that pilot's seat, I'm there 100%. I won't let you down."

She smiles and says, "Not what I asked."

He knows what she meant, and sighs again. "It's going to take a while for me to be okay, I think, but I feel a little better now."

"Good." She pats his shoulder and hops down to the floor. "You have the link to my omnitool?"

"I think so. It's in the public ship listing, right?"

"Yep. Ping me anytime you need to talk."

"I will."

She ducks down to catch his eye and smiles when he meets her gaze. "I mean it, Steve. No more moping by yourself."

He nods, and it starts to hit him—he really isn't alone in this. Not anymore. He's got a friend, a support system. "Aye aye, ma'am."

She hollers at James to get back to work and stop doing crunches, for god's sake, and James fires back with a barely-veiled flirty comeback that makes her laugh, and then she heads off for destinations unknown with one last wave as the elevator doors slide closed. Steve turns back to the console, takes out the recording, and buries it in his pack again.


	2. Chapter 2

Over the next few days, his life gets back some of its color. Steve hadn't realized just how gray everything had seemed before until now, and he's starting to feel better. There's still a long road ahead of him, but it's finally started to look less like an un-scalable mountain. Shepard's seen the difference, too—she doesn't bring up the incident with the recording, but the time she spends below-stairs with him and James becomes more frequent until he's sure she's spending every minute of her downtime with them. As a result, he's becoming more familiar with her, and with how dark and hollow her eyes are becoming. He decides to follow her lead for now and not ask until she gives him an inroad to that subject of conversation, but he keeps an eye on her and makes sure there's ration bars or something from the mess hall down here for her. Someone has to concern themselves with whether or not she's eating, and she's obviously not up to the task.

There's always a request for aid coming in, and Shepard has a hard time telling anyone "no". For some, she's their only hope of rescue. For others, no one else could get it done right like she can. The sheer number of people who have interacted with her and come to trust her is astonishing. One would think that the rest of the Alliance had been asleep these past few years, because the only person they want to help them is Shepard. She is a hero, one for the history books.

On the other hand, she's also the sort to sit in the shuttle bay and drink a beer next to Steve while they both watch James do pull ups. Though he's joked about it before, he's right—the show is impressive. She takes a sip of her beer and tilts her head to view him from another angle.

"I didn't even know that muscle group could get that big," she says, really laying on the awe-struck wonder.

"The guy's an artist, and his body is his canvas. See those abs? Michelangelo's David had abs like that." He empties the bottle he's holding and reaches for another one. A pleasant buzz has settled into his head, and he wants to make sure it stays there.

"David's a little too pale for my tastes," she says. She's about two beers further along than he is, because James bet her a ten-spot she couldn't pound one in less than five seconds, which made her ten credits richer. Then they had a race to finish the next one before he'd wandered off, grumbling, to exercise and prove his manliness to everyone in the room.

"Ahh. You like your guys with a little color on them, I take it?"

"Yeah. Tall, dark, and handsome. That's my type, right there." She sighs wistfully, clutching her chest, and Steve chuckles.

James hops down, turns up the music he'd been listening to—something guitar-heavy and Spanish—and saunters over to them, weaving a bit. He grabs a beer, pops it open on his belt buckle, and leans on the crate next to Shepard. "So, you're saying I'm your type, Lola?"

"Not quite, Mr. Biceps McMusclepants. I go for guys with necks." Steve covers his mouth and laugh/coughs into his sleeve.

"So that's what turns your crank? Necks?"

"Among other things." She winks at Steve and stands to toss her empty in the trash.

"Aw, come on, Lola," James says, and suddenly pulls her into a ballroom dancing stance before she can sit back down. She squeaks and falls into him before regaining her equilibrium enough for a glare. "You gotta elaborate on that."

"What the hell are you doing?" she asks indignantly.

"Dancing. It's customary among my people to dance all the time, for no reason."

"Speak for yourself, Mister Vega," Steve chimes in.

"Hey, that's Biceps McMusclepants to you," James says, and Shepard really must be halfway to drunk because she actually giggles at that, and still hasn't extricated herself from his arms yet. "And I didn't mean all Latinos, just my people. We're a whole clan of dancin' fools."

"Although a great many of us _do_ dance," Steve replies, and tries to take a drink from his empty bottle. He stares at it as though it could tell him how all the beer has disappeared so fast.

"You guys obviously haven't seen my skills on the dance floor," Shepard says, determined to protest against this affront to her dignity. "I make Wrex look like a ballerina in comparison."

James chuckles, "Now that's a mental image I could have lived without." Turning back to the business at hand and the woman in his arms, he explains, "Dancing is easy; all you're doing is moving with the beat."

"I could court-martial you for this."

"And you could have punched me in the face a thousand times by now, but you didn't do that, either." Shepard sighs and shakes her head, then straightens up and holds herself more confidently—her hand on his shoulder, the other clasped in his, while his fingers rest lightly on the small of her back. Steve leans back to watch, a small smile on his face.

James says, "Start simple—step back with your left foot, then come back to center and step forward with your right." He moves first and she's forced to move with him so he doesn't step on her foot. She's awkward at first, but Steve suspects it's mostly because they're both trying to lead at the same time.

"I'm so awful at this," she says, her face turning an alarming shade of red. She's so convinced she's a bad dancer that her body is making it so, and in her embarrassment Steve can tell she's not really even listening to the song anymore, just waiting for it to be over so she can start forgetting this ever happened.

"You just need the right partner," he says, and levers himself to his feet. He taps James' shoulder and Mr. McMusclepants graciously moves aside to let him have a turn. Shepard's arms are wrapped protectively around herself, but she loosens up just enough to let Steve get her arms where he wants them. She's so tense that he knows he'll have a hard time getting her to move again, so he shifts his arms up a little higher so she's forced to rest her weight on him. Then he begins to sway to the rhythm, just enough to get her moving. She glances up at him and gives him a sheepish smile.

"See? You're dancing already."

"I don't know if I'd call this dancing. We're barely moving."

"But we're moving to _music_. That's all dancing is." He pushes lightly on her left shoulder and she instinctively steps back with that foot, and he follows the movement. Then he tugs on her hip and she steps forward again. The long line of her body is warm against him as he leads her with gentle touches across the floor, and soon she's looking at her feet in amazement as though she can't believe what they're doing. Even James looks on in surprise.

"Hey, Commander, you're pretty good. You know, for a beginner."

"Told you all she needed was the right partner." She glances up at him with a smile that warms him all the way to his toes and he grows bolder with the dance, turning her around and stepping more quickly until she's laughing. When the song ends, she's flushed and giddy, and hugs him close on impulse. He hugs her back, and it feels good and right, this solid contact with another person. His heart suddenly feels too big for his chest and his hands clench into fists as he grips her tighter. She senses the change in him and strokes the back of his head as James clears his throat and excuses himself to let them have a moment alone.

"You all right, Steve?" she whispers in his ear, in case the answer is no and he doesn't want to let on.

"Yeah, I'm okay." He pulls away and steps back, and he thinks he sees her eyebrows crease in disappointment for an instant, there and gone again. "It's good to see you loosen up a little."

"You saying I'm uptight?" She laughs a little at the way his face falls. "Relax, I'm kidding. I know I seem . . . aloof, but it's only because I've got to keep it together for the crew. This fight is hard enough on everyone without me going to pieces all the time, although God knows I'd like to every now and again." She sighs and drops her head. "Sorry, I didn't mean . . . sorry."

"It's okay." She gives him a smile and starts to leave, but Steve calls her name and she looks back over her shoulder. He wants to tell her that it's okay to go to pieces if she has to, and that if she wants someone to hold her hand while she does it he'd be willing to offer his, but those sentiments seem too personal to be spoken aloud. "We should do this again some time."

The tiny uptilt of her lips tells him that she's heard his unspoken offer and she nods. "Definitely. Take care, Steve."

He goes to lay down and try to sleep, and the scent of her lingers on his clothes for a long time after.

* * *

The next few days are a whirlwind of activity. They spend most of it on Tuchanka, charging in with guns blazing to save the Primarch's son and bail out his squad. It's a blow to the morale of the ground team when they lose him later; Tarquin Victus was young and inexperienced, but he sacrificed himself for the good of an entire planet. There is honor in that, but Steve feels awful for the Primarch nonetheless. No parent should ever have to bury their child.

Finally, word comes down from on high—the cure is ready, all systems go. Steve gets the order to gear up and have the shuttle ready within the hour, and he's just finishing the pre-flight checklist when Shepard arrives accompanied by Mordin, Wrex, Eve, Garrus, and Liara. It's a tight fit, especially with the two krogan, but they all manage to fit in. Shepard pulls him aside for a moment and there's something in her eyes that looks dangerously close to panic.

"Cortez, can I ask you something?"

"Absolutely, Commander." Commander, not Shepard. Not now when she's armored up for battle. She puts on her rank like a shield before a mission, but today it's showing signs of cracking.

"If you had to choose between what's right and what's practical, what would you do?"

"You're gonna have to give me more to go on." She sighs and fidgets with her armor before continuing.

"I can't. Maybe after, but right now . . . just give me your opinion."

He has to think about it for a minute, but she waits for him. "If I understand you, I think you're asking me if I'd choose to follow my heart over my head." She nods, and he says, "In a war like this, when we're faced with cold ruthlessness, we can't lose our humanity. If we do, we become like them. Doing the practical thing might mean we save a lot of people, but if it means losing our integrity and our honor in the process, it's not worth it. If we die, then at least we die on our own terms and not theirs." Shepard's eyes are bright under the fluorescents and her lip trembles slightly before she clamps the Commander mask firmly on and nods.

"Thanks, I needed that." She ducks into the shuttle and calls, "All right, take us down."

"Aye aye, ma'am."

* * *

They land on Tuchanka and Steve watches in awe as Shepard and her team plow through the Reaper horde like an organic bulldozer. He gives air support where he can and watches anxiously when he can't; Shepard may seem invincible on the battlefield, but even heroes can have a bad day. When he hears the name _Kalros_ over the comm and sees the massive Reaper ship directly in their path, he knows that she's having a very bad day, indeed.

She sprints to the maw hammers, dodging flying debris and the enormous fists of the marauders that are running amok. Garrus and Liara are trying their best to distract them and keep them off of her, but there's only so much they can do against such brute force. Finally, the last hammer crashes down with a thud and Kalros herself, huge and brutally beautiful, erupts from the ground and wraps around the Reaper ship like a boa constrictor, bearing it down even as it fires its cannon wildly into the air. The thresher maw crushes it and drags it, screaming, into the earth and Steve can't help but watch in slack-jawed wonder.

He's just seen a giant worm kill an ancient sentient machine. He briefly considers having a holo made.

All is quiet for a long time, just a lot of panting as they run for the Shroud, and then Shepard's voice in on the comm again. This time, she's not barking orders or issuing commands. This time, she's pleading with a friend.

"Mordin, this whole thing is coming apart! There's gotta be another way."

Remote bypass impossible, STG countermeasures in place. No time to adjust cure for temperature variance."

"You don't have to . . . please, Mordin, don't do this."

"Shepard, please. Need to do this. My work, my responsibility." The salarian takes a deep breath. "Would have liked to run tests on the seashells."

"I'm sorry." And god, she sounds like it. Like a much younger girl who sees the awful thing happening and wants to take it all back-_please no, make it stop_, she's saying, and Steve wants to reach out to her, but she's so far away.

"I'm not. Had to be me."

"Someone else might have gotten it wrong." Her voice breaks on the last word and Steve almost shuts the comm off to give her some privacy in this moment. A few seconds later, the salarian starts humming a song, something Steve recognizes from the Pirates of Penzance, and there's a little quaver to his voice. _He's scared,_ Steve thinks, and that's when the tears begin, when he realizes that the fearless salarian doctor is humming to himself to calm his nerves as he goes to die.

"Cortez, are you there?" Shepard calls over the comm, and he hits the switch to break in and answer.

"Right here, ma'am."

"Get up there and see if you can't find a way to get him out once he's finished."

"Roger that, going in for extraction." He pilots the shuttle to the tip of the Shroud, but the doctor doesn't move from the terminal. Mordin barely has time to insert the cure and start the dispersal before the whole thing blows and begins to collapse. Shepard's hoarse whisper, "No," is louder than it has any right to be.

Steve lands at the LZ and Garrus, Liara, and Shepard hop in, silent as they fly away from the newly liberated krogan homeworld. The krogan have pledged support to the turians, and their clans are united in a strong army, thanks to Urdnot Wrex. The krogan will survive this war, and it's a major victory for their side. Celebrations are planned, and there's talk of heading to the Citadel to celebrate at every bar on the station.

When they're back on the Normandy, Steve powers down the engines and begins the post-fight maintenance checks. So engrossed is he in his work that it's not until he reaches the side doors that he sees Shepard sitting in the darkened interior, her armor in a pile beside her, thousand-yard-stare on her face. Steve sets aside the datapad he's working from and climbs in to sit next to her, but lets the silence drag out, hers to break. She hangs her head, her sweat-crusted hair hanging in her face.

"He was a good man," she says finally, and her voice is like sandpaper. "Why can't life be like the movies? The good guys win, the bad guys lose, and everyone lives happily ever after."

"It would be nice," Steve agrees, and the first tears fall to the floor between her knees.

"It's not _fair_." She sniffles and wipes her eyes, and he puts his arm around her shoulders. "I hate this war so goddamn much, Steve." She dissolves into sobs and he pulls her in against him. Soon his shirt is damp with tears and she buries her face in his side. All he can think to do is hold her and murmur all those comforting but ultimately useless phrases like, _Just let it go_, and _Shhh_, and _It's gonna be okay. _It's a long time before her tears begin to slow and her shoulders stop hitching, but she still doesn't move away from him as he rubs soothing circles on her back. It's as though she can't seem to find the resolve to leave the shuttle and let life go on without her friend. This is a sentiment Steve can understand all too well.

He loses track of time and when he looks down at her, he sees that she's fallen asleep. Rather than wake her up and force her to face all the harshness of her reality so soon after a blow like this, he gently lays her down, then goes to his own cot and gets his pillow and blanket. Gently, he lifts her head and slides the pillow under, covers her with the blanket, and takes her armor to stow it in her locker. He shuts the shuttle door as quietly as he can, and lets her have this momentary reprieve in private.

The requisition orders have piled up and he puts together a list of all the things they'll need to pick up from the Citadel, all the while keeping an eye on the shuttle. After two hours, he makes a quick trip to the mess hall for some dinner, but when he comes back she's gone. There's a new message in his inbox, too, and it reads,

_Thank you for what you did. I really needed that. We'll be docking at the Citadel for repairs, supplies, and 36 hours of shore leave. Meet me for drinks?_

Steve fires back immediately: _Wouldn't miss it_. He goes back to work with a small twinge of anticipation in his stomach, and wonders what it means that he's so looking forward to seeing her again.


	3. Chapter 3

The war had finally hit the Citadel. It was bound to happen sooner or later, but it still feels like the rug has been pulled out from under them—the last bastion of peace has been dragged into the fray. Shepard, accompanied by the ever-present Garrus, takes James along this time and Steve flies them down to the station. He has to leave in a hurry, though—Cerberus has anti-aircraft turrets and poor aim, but that's not going to last forever. He tries to stay within range in case they need a quick exit, but there's a lack of any decent landing pads where they are, and the speeding air cars as people hurry away from the fighting in a panic make maneuvering dangerous.

He doesn't see the stand-off between Shepard and the newly-minted Spectre Alenko, but he can hear it. At first it sounds like Kaidan might actually shoot her, but her powers of persuasion and the bond between them is strong and Udina pays the ultimate price for his betrayal. No one liked Udina—although his policies were mostly sound, he came off as an abrasive asshole—but Steve had never seen this coming. Even Shepard seems taken aback by Udina's affiliation with Cerberus. He'd been open about his distrust before, but the Illusive Man's deep pockets and pro-human platitudes were likely to blame here.

Once the coup has been dealt with, Steve sends her a message asking if she'd still like to get some drinks, or maybe go halfsies on a bottle of tequila, but she doesn't respond. She hasn't turned off her locator beacon on her omnitool though, and he sees that she's going in the direction of Huerta Memorial. Thane, the drell that came out of nowhere and got the drop on Kai Leng, had been injured in the fight. It's possible that she knows more than one person in Huerta, the way this war is going.

Steve decides to go to the docks to watch the ships go by and pass the time. The way the enormous ships, human and alien alike, fly so smoothly just outside the windows never fails to calm his nerves. It brings back memories of his childhood, of going to the airports to watch the jet fighters take off and land, of the dark rooms with glowing screens where air traffic control directed hundreds of crafts every day. It reminds him of Robert, and how they used to talk about engine specs the way other people discussed their favorite sports teams. All the technical jargon they threw at each other used to drive his family crazy because no one else could follow it, but they were in love and didn't care. Steve smiles to himself, lost in recollections of years long past.

When Shepard finds him, she's wearing a leather coat he's never seen before. It doesn't fit her and was obviously tailored to someone with broader shoulders and narrower hips, but she hugs it to herself like a security blanket. There are dark circles under her red-rimmed eyes and she looks both older and much younger than she did before the Cerberus attack. She leans on the railing and puts her head on his shoulder with a shaky sigh. Without a word, Steve takes her hand in his and tries to warm her chilly fingers.

He wonders briefly if she would be so willing to share in his warmth if he were straight—being a gay man, she knows he won't expect anything more than just holding her hand which makes him neutral territory, and safe—but comes to the conclusion that it doesn't matter. He respects the hell out of her as a friend and as his CO, and she trusts him with her life every time they go into battle. All the other stuff is just incidental at this point.

"You want to talk about it?" he asks, his voice pitched low and just for her. She shimmies a little to fit herself more snugly against him, and the leather smells like sagebrush and colitas.

"Not this time." They watch the frigates and transport ships outside, then she says, "I got your message. Still want to go for drinks? I hear Purgatory is open."

"Wow, already?"

"Yeah, I know. I think Aria had something to do with it." She sounds less than enthusiastic about going out anywhere, and Steve suspects she just wants to get as drunk as possible.

He squeezes her hand and starts to pull her along toward the ship. "I'm not really in the mood for crowds right now. What do you say we go make use of that totally unnecessary lounge on the crew deck?"

She offers up a wan smile at that, and even that little victory feels good. "Sounds like a plan."

* * *

Less than an hour later, they're both utterly hammered. Steve can't remember the last time he was this drunk, only that he lost count of the shots about eight rounds ago and he's feeling pretty damned awesome. Shepard is in the middle of telling him about the time Tali yelled at Kaidan about what happened on Horizon, and he can't imagine the little quarian raging at anyone even though Shepard swears up and down that there were words leaving Tali's mouth that would have made a vorcha blush. They've both reached that point of the night when everything is hilarious, and Shepard had to make the executive decision to move the party to the floor so they didn't hurt themselves.

"Oh my god," she says once the hysterics have died down. "What is this, twice now? I've been drunk with you twice in the past week. That's gotta be some sort of record for me."

"You don't drink?" he asks, pouring himself another shot that he leaves on the floor for the nonce.

"Not usually. My N-school instructors made it very clear that active duty officers should never engage in unprofessional behavior with subordinates, and I've been active duty for . . ." She starts to count on her fingers, then gives up. "For a long-ass time."

"I'd say that's exactly what we're doing right now," Steve points out and she nods seriously.

"Yeah, but all my instructors are probably dead now, so they can't reprimand me." Steve chuckles even as he feels guilty for doing so, but he knows gallows humor when he hears it. He reaches out for her hand and, without even meaning to, pulls her into his lap. In fact, he's sort of surprised to look up and see her face inches from his, but she doesn't seem to mind.

"You've been fighting this war for a long time," he says, and absently tucks her hair behind her ear.

"Yeah, I have. It's been . . . more than I bargained for." She rests her forearms on his shoulders while she plays with the edges of his collar. If she's even remotely uncomfortable sitting in her shuttle pilot's lap and breaking all kinds of regs in the process, she doesn't show it. "You wanted to know what I was asking you about the other day." It's not a question.

"Which day was that?"

"When I asked you if you'd go with your heart or your head." Ah, that time. He nods. "Before we went to Tuchanka, the dalatrass asked me to sabotage the genophage cure to prevent another krogan uprising. If I did, she would have given me the salarian fleets and a team of scientists for the Crucible."

He'd known politicians were underhanded and cold-blooded, but that seemed cold even for a Councilor. "You were asking me whether you should save the krogan or take the salarian support." He's floored that she would have let him play a part in such a monumental decision, and then it hits him that she's dealing with making those decisions all the time.

"Yeah. That's why I didn't want to give you the details then, but I thought you'd want to know."

"Not that I'm not flattered, Shepard, but why ask me? There are others out there with more strategic knowledge than me who could have helped you."

One of her hands moves from his shirt to his face and traces the line of his jaw, the pads of her fingers rasping against the stubble. Suddenly the air between them is electric, and his own touch gravitates up her back to curl into her hair. "I trust your judgment. You've got a good head on your shoulders, and you're the best friend I have on this ship." She starts to lean down to him, then stops herself with a self-deprecating grimace. "Steve—Christ, I'm sorry." Before he knows it, she's standing up on wobbly legs and smoothing the wrinkles out of her uniform.

"What? Wait—what's the matter?"

She shakes her head and starts backing up to the door. "I think I've been really stupid—I sort of let myself start to want more than you can give me. God, I'm an idiot."

Steve pulls himself upright and grabs her arm before she can leave. "Hang on a second. Explain to me what that means."

She sighs and rubs the back of her neck. "I, uh . . . okay, look, I'm really attracted to you. A lot. It's actually becoming a problem, because you're . . ."

"Because I'm gay," he finishes for her and she closes her eyes, her head falling back against the wall with a thump. "And you think that's a problem?" He steps in closer and her eyes fly open again when he cups her cheek.

"Isn't it?" She ducks away from him and he lets her, kicking himself the whole time. Her eyes stay on his for a few seconds too long, and then she whispers, "Sorry," again just before she leaves him. Steve just stands there in the middle of the floor, staring at the door and wondering if he should maybe go after her.

This is uncharted territory for him. He's known he was gay since he was about eleven years old, and has been very secure in his sexuality ever since. It's not something he's ever questioned before, and he's never felt the need to. But something about Shepard strikes a resonant chord with him; they fit well together as friends, but now he's asking if there might be something more. The way she looked at him before, and the knot of anticipation that unfurled with warm tendrils in his stomach when she leaned down to him when he knew what she was about to do and he wanted her to do it . . . it was all adding up to something he hadn't considered before.

After losing Robert, he'd never thought that he would ever have romantic inclinations toward anyone again. He'd been fine with that, too. Now, not only did he have feelings for someone else, he was having them for a woman. He allowed himself a small chuckle imagining what Robert would say about this. More than likely, he'd tell him to go on and be happy with whoever made him happy, no matter what they might look like. That decided him, and he went out into the hallway to look for her but she'd already disappeared. EDI informed him she was in Liara's room going over some additional intel on the Protheans that they'd picked up recently, and that she'd asked not to be disturbed.

_Next time, then_, he thought to himself. _I__'ll tell her next time_.


End file.
